Chapter four
HARDIN
Jack and Coke,” I bark.
The bald bartender glares at me as he pulls an empty glass from the rack and fills it with ice. Too bad I didn’t think to invite Vance; we could have shared a father-son drink.
Fuck, this is all so fucked-up. “Double, actually,” I modify the order.
“Got it,” the big man sarcastically responds. My eyes find the old television on the wall, and I read the captions on the bottom of the screen. The commercial is for an insurance company, and the screen is covered by a giggling baby. Why they choose to put babies in every damn commercial, I will never know.
The bartender wordlessly slides my drink across the wooden bar just as the baby makes a sound that’s presumably supposed to be even more “adorable” than giggling, and I bring the glass to my lips, allowing my mind to take me far away from here.
“WHY DID YOU BRING HOME baby products?” I had asked.
She sat down on the edge of the bathtub and pulled her hair into a ponytail. I started to worry if she had an obsession with children—it sure as hell seemed like it.
“It’s not a baby product,” Tessa had said and laughed. “It just has a baby and a father printed on the package.”
“I really don’t understand the appeal there.” I lifted the box of shaving products Tessa had brought home for me, examining the chubby cheeks of a baby and wondering what the hell a baby has to do with a shaving kit.
She shrugged. “I don’t really get it either, but I’m sure putting a baby’s image on it will help with sales.”
“Maybe for women buying their boyfriend’s or husband’s shit,” I corrected her. No man in his right mind would’ve grabbed that thing off the shelf.
“No, I’m sure fathers would buy it, too.”
“Sure.” I had ripped open the box and laid the contents out in front of me, then made eye contact with her through the mirror. “A bowl?”
“Yes, it’s for the cream. You’ll get a better shave if you use the brush.”
“And how do you know that?” I raised a brow at her, hoping she didn’t know this from experience with Noah.
Her smile was wide. “I looked it up!”
“Of course you did.” My jealousy disappeared, and she playfully kicked her feet at me. “Since you seem to be an expert in the art of shaving, come help me.”
I had always just used a simple razor and cream, but since she had clearly put thought into this, I wouldn’t deny her. And, frankly, the blooming idea of her shaving my face was a major fucking turn-on. Tessa smiled and got to her feet, joining me in front of the sink. She picked up the tube of cream and filled the bowl before swirling the brush around to create a lather.
“Here.” She smiled, handing me the brush.
“No, you do it.” I placed the brush back into her hand and wrapped my hands around her waist. “Up you go.” I lifted her onto the sink. Once she was settled, I pushed her thighs apart and stood between them.
Her expression was cautious but concentrated as she dipped the brush into the lather and swiped it across my jaw.
“I don’t really want to go anywhere tonight,” I told her. “I have so much work to do. You’ve been distracting me.” Grabbing a handful of her tits, I squeezed gently.
Her hand jerked, flinging some of the shaving cream onto my neck.
“Good thing the razor wasn’t in your hand,” I joked.
“Good thing,” she mocked, and picked up the brand-new razor. Then she chewed at her full lips and asked, “Are you sure you want me to do it? I’m nervous that I’ll cut you by accident.”
“Stop worrying.” I smirked. “I’m sure you researched this part online, anyway,”
Her tongue peeked out in a childish way, and I leaned forward to kiss her before she began. She didn’t say anything, because I was right.
“But know that if you cut me, you should definitely run.” I laughed.
She scowled again. “Stay still, please.” Her hand was slightly shaky, but quickly grew steady as she gently dragged the razor across my jawline.
“You should just go without me,” I said and closed my eyes. Tessa’s shaving my face was somehow comforting and surprisingly calming. I didn’t feel like going to my father’s house for dinner, but Tessa was going stir-crazy being in the apartment all the time, so when Karen had called to invite us, she’d jumped at the request.
“If we stay in tonight, then I want to reschedule and go this weekend. Will you have your work done by then?”
“I guess so . . .” I complained.
“You can call and tell them, then. I’ll start dinner after this, and you can work.” She tapped my top lip with her finger, signaling for me to tuck my lips in, and she carefully shaved around my mouth.
When she was finished, I said, “You should drink the rest of that wine in the fridge, because the cork has been off for days now. It’s going to be vinegar soon.”
“I . . . I don’t know.” She hesitated. I knew why. I opened my eyes, and she reached behind her back to turn the faucet on and wet a towel.
“Tess”—I pressed my fingers under her chin—“you can drink in front of me. I’m not some struggling alcoholic.”
“I know, but I don’t want it to be weird for you. I don’t really need to be drinking so much wine anyway. If you aren’t drinking, I don’t need to.”
“My problem isn’t drinking. It’s only when I’m pissed-off and drink—that’s when there’s a problem.”